


Life Stories are Second Date Material

by nymja



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, coffee shop AU, modern day AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 22:22:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake hates picking up his sister from her job at the local coffee shop. A blonde pre-med student makes him hate it a little less.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Stories are Second Date Material

**Author's Note:**

> for avarosierthewicked on tumblr!

He’s never been a fan of this place, but Bellamy finds an extra special reservoir of hatred for it when it’s finals week at the nearby university. The coffee shop is full, and nearly every chair is full of burned out college students, old men wearing tweed blazers, and idiots holding out their copies of Nietzsche too far out to be legitimately reading them. He takes a breath, his fingers curling into his palms, and rotates his wrist to take a look at the watch around it.

It’s one in the morning. There should never be this many people in a  _coffee shop_ at one in the morning, and he’s sure the scowl isn’t hidden on his face as he tries to find Octavia in this mess.

It takes him a moment to locate his sister, her hair flying out in a curtain behind her as she rushes from espresso machine to espresso machine. She looks tired, but determined in a way he knows will end with him sitting here again. Waiting an extra hour because  _Just two things, Bell. Two more things and we can go-_

-next semester, he’s buying her a bus pass. Because even though he works the late shift as a custodian at the same, nearby university (that’s still full of people he hates, who buy the ridiculously priced coffee that he hates, and crowd this place every night) it doesn’t mean he  _likes_ spending his Friday nights watching his little sister run back and forth like a madwoman in a barista apron.

…But then if he isn’t here, she walks home by herself on Fridays after this place closes. And he hates that even more. Because what kind of  _coffee shop_ in a neighborhood with a high crime rate closes at three in the morning.

Bellamy takes a step forward, about to call out her name when he realizes that, for once, his Performance-Arts-majoring sister is stationary behind the coffee bar. Bellamy feels himself frown, as he sees Octavia smile and lean over the counter, dark hair spilling over her shoulder as she says something to some guy that’s sitting in front of her work station.

And Bellamy  _looks_  at him:

Older than her. Probably by at least a few years.  
Neck tattoo. Arm tattoos. Tattoos everywhere.  
Sketch book out by his coffee.  
Scabbed over knuckles.  
Staring at his little sister with far too long of lapses in between blinks.   
Reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear as Octavia  _smiles-_

Hell no.

Bellamy’s about to go over there and do  _something_ , like remind Octavia of her senses, when he hears a level, calm voice to the left of him.

“Don’t worry, that’s her boyfriend.”

He turns-already irritated because his sister is picking up strange men in crime-ridden neighborhoods, and it’s not any of their business _,_ but most of all because  _boyfriend_ -when he locates the source of the voice and settles for a scowl instead of a reprimand.

Long, curly blonde hair. Bright, assessing blue eyes. A thermos the size of a keg, and four medical textbooks vandalized by highlighter. Bellamy looks at the table where the girl is sitting, and frowns.

“What?”

She doesn’t look away from whatever it is she’s highlighting, lips pursed thoughtfully, “The guy you’re glaring at. Boyfriend.”

“Octavia doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

The blonde raises her eyebrows, and merely turns to another page.

Bellamy can almost feel his teeth grind. But he tilts his head with a detached sort of realization, “I know you.”

Her gaze flickers up, for just a second, as she looks him up and down, “You do?”

“Yeah. You mess up the blackboards.”

When she looks up again, this time it’s longer, her eyebrows furrowed, “What?”

Bellamy looks at the page she’s reading. Cardiovascular systems, “I…”  _am your janitor,_ “Go in after you’re gone. After the pre-med lectures.”

She folds her arms over her chest, and then her eyebrows go up as she makes the connection, “You’re the custodian, right?”

“Janitor,” he corrects. It’s not like calling it something else will make it something different, “And you’re the TA for Professor Kane.”

She nods, looking a little friendlier but no less exhausted as she dips her head, “I’m Clarke.”

“Alright.”

The princess of the biology department snorts, “And that’s where you’re supposed to give me your name.”

“Because you care about the name of your janitor?”

“Because it’s called an introduction.”

His dark eyes meet her own, once more assessing. Finally, “It’s Bellamy.”

“Well Bellamy, I’m sorry I mess up the blackboards,” she says curtly, before going back to her notes.

He sighs, writing the conversation off because he’s not going to make small talk in a coffee shop like this is a rerun episode of  _Friends_. Instead, he turns his attention back to his watch. 1:15 in the morning. Then back to his sister. Octavia is, thankfully, not anywhere near the tattooed artist guy who practically screams Terrible Life Decision. Though she is, not as thankfully, back to being a human ping-pong ball as she alternates between talking up her regulars, and steaming milk or chai or whatever it is baristas did that separated them from microwaves and Mr. Coffees.

Terrible Life Decision is watching her from his seat the whole time, taking slow sips from coffee that Bellamy is reasonably sure could have been finished in the fifteen minutes he was not-talking to Princess Cardiovascular.

It takes a few instances of rough shouldering, but Bellamy finally makes his way up to the bar, “Octavia!” he shouts over the sound of timers and chatty Freshmen and he hates this place more and more every Friday.

She whips her head around and smiles at him, “Bell, just a second-” she goes to move one metal cup thing to a different metal cup thing.

And he feels a little less annoyed. But then he realizes that Terrible Life Decision has turned his stare to him. Thankfully it’s not adoring like the ones he’s been giving his sister. Instead, Terrible Life Decision has a calculating air to him as Bellamy meets his gaze.

 _Boyfriend,_ huh.

“Who’re you?” Bellamy demands.

Terrible Life Decision says nothing, his face stoic.

“It’s called an introduction,” Bellamy presses, unknowingly echoing the words of Princess Cardiovascular earlier.

Terrible Life Decision blinks.

“Bell, you’re early!” Octavia says, stopping in front of him and thereby breaking the glare he was carefully directing at the guy who was not going to be her boyfriend.

“You said you were done at one,” he accuses, reluctantly looking away from the tattooed guy.

Octavia frowns, “Three.”

“ _One_.”

She rolls her eyes, “ _Three,_ I told you I’m closing for Miller.”

“No you didn’t.”

“I can drive her home,” comes a deeper voice, and Octavia and Bellamy both turn to look at Terrible Life Decision. He’s still. Way too still for a guy his size.

Octavia spreads her arms out, “Problem solved-“

“You’re not getting a drive home from this guy,” Bellamy cuts off.

Octavia frowns, “His name is Lincoln, and he’s my friend-“

“I’m sure he is-“

“-and you hate this place so I doubt you want to stay. So what’s the problem?”

Bellamy looks at his sister. Looks at Terrible Life Decision, who apparently has a name now. And looks back to Octavia. When he speaks, he makes sure he does it with Older Brother finality, “I’ll wait.”

Octavia raises a defiant eyebrow, “We’re packed. There’s no free seats.”

A thin arm, covered by what looks like an army jacket, extends out past Bellamy, hand gripping tightly onto a keg-sized Thermos, “There’s a free spot at my table.”

Octavia blinks, but shakes her head as she grabs a pot (plain, black) and refills the Thermos, “Clarke you don’t have to.“

Bellamy groans under his breath, “Princess to the rescue.”

Said Princess moves in closer to him, and the bar, as Octavia finishes pouring. A strand or two of her hair rests on the arm of his jacket, but he doesn’t say anything about it, “What was that?”

Bellamy turns to her and can’t help the smug note that enters his tone, “It’s called a nickname.”

Clarke frowns, clearly disapproving but too polite to say so outwardly, “It’s just a chair. Take it or leave it,” her frown deepens, “Though don’t mess up my notes that are out.”

“Like you mess up my blackboards?”

“Exactly not like that.”

Bellamy looks to his sister, who is standing with one hand on her hip and palpable irritation on her face, and to Terrible Life Decision, who is drawing something in his notebook. And sighs, digging into his pocket.

“Get me a coffee, O,” he says, putting a five dollar bill down on the counter.

His sister waves him off, put pours out a less-than-keg-sized amount of the same liquid for him, “You really don’t have to stay another two hours, Bell. I’m a big girl.”

Bellamy looks at the boyfriend. Scowls. Grabs the cup, “It’s fine. I’ll be just over there,” he gestures to Clarke’s table, and doesn’t break his concentration on Terrible Life Decision, “Plain sight.”

Octavia snorts, “Guardian of the café. Nice,” she turns to Clarke, looking sympathetic, “I’ll get your refill. I think we have martyrdom discounts.”

Clarke smiles, and it makes her seem a little less haggard, as she puts money on the counter, “Consider it a tip then,” she turns to Bellamy, “Shall we?”

He shakes his head, turning back to Octavia, “ _Three_.”

She waves him off, going down to the other side of the bar where another regular, wearing ski goggles inside for some reason, is wanting another refill.

Bellamy follows the princess. He sits across from her. She takes her seat and ignores him easily enough, opening her textbook once more. He frowns, looking at his watch. One twenty-two. And sighs. It’s going to be a long night, and he’s reasonably sure Octavia burned this coffee.

“How do you know Octavia,” he asks, oblivious to the fact that the question sounds like an accusation.

Clarke drags her highlighter across a line with a dry noise, “I tutored her in Chemistry last semester. She introduced me to this place. We’re friends,” he sees the corner of her lip twitch up into a grin, though he’s not sure what that means, “Is that a problem?”

His eyes narrow, “Should it be?”

She shakes her head. He watches the blonde curls move with the motion, flooding over her shoulders, “Are you always so defensive or just overtired.”

He blinks, a little started by her bluntness. But his own lip twitches, “Both.”

Clarke yawns with a nod, “Figured.”

Bellamy looks at the books, “Let me guess. Pre-med?”

“Double major. Pre-med and electrical engineering.”

Weird. And a hell of a lot of work for two things that didn’t exactly line up.  “Why.”

Her eyes dart up from the book to connect with his once more. It’s like looking at the top of a lake, blue and still and a little glassy. But easy to fall in to. Bellamy catches himself and looks anywhere else.

Which, briefly, is her chest. So he looks somewhere else again, faster this time. The exposed sliver of tabletop seems to be fairly neutral territory.

“I think life stories are solidly in the second coffee date category.”

It takes him a minute to realize she’s joking. And for some reason he feels annoyed, “You asked me to sit here.”

“I offered you a chair.”

“And about three inches of table space.”

She, pointedly and with great noise, moves one of the textbooks to rest on top of the other. Its  _thwack_ as its set down seems to echo throughout the noise of the place, “Now it’s fifteen inches. Happy?”

Bellamy isn’t sure why he smiles, but he does. And makes a show of resting his entire forearm on the table, “It’s a start.”

The princess smiles back, before digging into her bag. She withdraws two sets of index cards, and gives one to him, “Here, make yourself useful.”

Bellamy blinks, caught off guard once more as he takes them, “Flashcards.” He says, dumbly.

She shrugs, “I have a Classics test to study for, and it’s better than having you glare at Lincoln.”

His heart does a small, little leap at  _Classics,_ but he settles for shaking his head and thumbing through them, “You’re sure he’s her boyfriend?”

“He’s here every night.”

Right.  _That_ makes him feel reassured, “For how long?”

Clarke takes a sip of her coffee and shrugs before tactfully changing the subject, “Alright, first question.”

Bellamy reads it, because he has nothing better to do and it’s better than listening to her scrape a highlighter ninety thousand times, “A dialogue written by Plato that uses the example of love to examine the art of rhetoric.”

“ _Gorgias_?”

He snorts, “Nope,  _Phaedrus._ ”

Clarke sends him an amused look, “You didn’t even flip the card to the answer side.”

Bellamy knows he sounds smug now, “Don’t need to.”

“Oh really?”

“Really.”

“I’ll buy the next coffee if it actually says  _Phaedrus_ on the back.”

Bellamy grins as he slowly turns it to face her.

Clarke smiles and shakes her head, “Next coffee’s on me. How’d you know that?”

He tenses, for a moment. And glares at the fifteen inches of table space, “I majored in History. And have a Master’s in Classical Studies.”

Bellamy waits for the inevitable questions. Because how does someone with a Master’s end up as a janitor? The story to that one ends the same way as how someone gains custody of a younger sister when his mom gets sent to prison.

But instead, she only reaches over and shuffles the flashcard back into his hand. Their fingers brush against each other’s for a moment, warm and brief, and Bellamy frowns. Clarke’s voice is warm, in that steady and sure way of hers.

“Life stories are for the second coffee date,” and withdraws another flashcard, “How about this one?”

Bellamy looks at her, confused but not in an unpleasant way, before he reads the next question, “The three great tragedians of Classical Athens.”

Clarke pouts when she thinks, apparently. It’s distracting. “Sophocles, Euripides, aaaaaand…Aeschyles?”

He actually laughs. A little. Against his will. “You’re not entirely hopeless. And it’s Eurip _ee_ des.”

“We can’t all have Master’s in Classical Studies.”

The next hour and a half passes with flashcards and Clarke butchering the pronunciation of half the great philosophers. And Bellamy hasn’t looked at his watch in a while, so he’s surprised when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Bell? Ready to go?”

He turns his head, and Octavia stands there with a highly amused look on her face. Bellamy’s attention darts back to the coffee bar. Terrible Life Decision has left, but when Bellamy turns again, he notices that Octavia has a piece of sketch paper in her hand.

“…Sure.” He hesitates. Why is he hesitating?

“He wasn’t a huge pain in the ass all night, was he?”

Clarke rolls her shoulders, “He kept to his fifteen inches of table.”

Octavia grins, as her eyes go from the princess to him. And Bellamy doesn’t like that mischievous glint in her stare. “Good, well. Bellamy, you’re picking me up next week too, right?”

He raises an eyebrow. What else is she going to do? Walk? Join a motorcycle gang with Terrible Life Decision? “Don’t I always?”

His sister raises her eyebrows, “Alright. Same time next week. Bye Clarke!”

Octavia peels for the door, but Bellamy stays behind for an extra second, pushing in his chair as he stands.

Clarke begins to methodically pack up her books. He doesn’t think twice before assisting her. She nods in appreciation, “Thanks for helping. Guess I picked the right person to give the chair to.”

He smiles, “And as long as you don’t have to say anything out loud, you might pass.”

She sighs, but stands. Bellamy pushes her chair in after her. She sends him a questioning look, but dips her head, “Well, have a good night.”

“Alright.”

“This is where you tell me to have a good night.”

“Because there’s a chance of that when you’re leaving a coffee shop at three am?”

“Because it’s called manners.”

Bellamy leans forward, aware of how close his face is to hers. He smirks. “Goodnight, princess.”

She rolls her eyes, but he sees her smile as she turns and walks out the door.

\--

The next day, the blackboards in the biology lecture hall are tidily cleaned.

The next week, Bellamy shows up two hours early again. Definitely by accident.

The next month, he asks her out for their actual first coffee date.


End file.
